WOOD  NOTES 


MILDRED  WHITNEY  STILLMAN 


THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 
OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 


WOOD    NOTES 


WOOD  NOTES 


By 
MILDRED  WHITNEY  STILLMAN 


Copyright.  1922  by 
DUPFIELD  &  COMPANY 


PRINTED  IN  THE  UNITED  STATES  OF  AMERICA 


TO 
MY  MOTHER 


904179 


CONTENTS 

PAGE 

WOOD  NOTES — 

In  the  Night I 

April 2 

Spring 4 

The  Wild  Canary 6 

May 7 

Pansies 8 

Stillwood 9 

Country  Lullaby u 

Nocturne 12 

Summer 13 

Strawberries 15 

Water  Lily 17 

Cobwebs       18 

Cornwall 19 

Yellow  Leaves 20 

Chickadee , 21 

November 23 

Coon  Hunt 24 

Above  Sutherland's  Pond 25 

Wyoming 26 

Snow  in  the  Rockies 27 

Saranac 28 

Concord  River 29 


CONTENTS 


PAGE 


Fog  on  Sargent 30 

On  Western  Mt 31 

Zermatt 33 

Caux-sur-Territet       34 

THE  CHILDREN — 

Magnificat 37 

Promise 38 

Jane    . 39 

The  Nestling 40 

Baffled 41 

The  Others       42 

Cuddle  Down 43 

Godmother 44 

The  Favorite 45 

The  Squirrel 47 

Homeward  Bound 48 

City  Lullaby 49 

Calvin 50 

Science 52 

The  Croup  Kettle 53 

The  Hoot  Owl 54 

Faith 55 

The  Star 56 

Grandfather      .     .     : 57 

Johnny 58 

The  Pine  Pillow 59 

My  Daffodil 60 

Bed-time  61 


CONTENTS 

PACK 

THE  SEA — 

The  Sloop 65 

The  Laubster  Boat 66 

Sea  Lullaby 68 

Tide 69 

Carpenteria 71 

Baker's  Beach       72 

The  Crossing 73 

THOUGHTS — 

Snow 77 

With  a  Pipe 78 

Park  Avenue 79 

Lines 80 

Dolores 81 

J.  S 82 

The  Japan  Society  Exhibit 84 

The  Auction 85 

The  Cosway  Miniatures 87 

Harvard  Conservatory 88 

The  Statue  of  the  Minute  Man 89 

Fifth  Avenue 90 

Boylston  Street 91 

Westminster  Chimes 92 

Sunset  Hymn 93 

Credo       94 

Communion  Hymn 95 

The  Visitor 97 

Christmas  Eve 98 

Envoi       99 


A  number  of  these  poems  appeared  in  John 
Martin's  Book,  The  Youth's  Companion,  The 
Churchman,  The  New  York  Evening  Post,  The 
New  York  Times,  The  Boston  Transcript,  and 
The  Cornwall  Press. 


WOOD    NOTES 


IN  THE  NIGHT 

The  furry  folk  go  out  to  feed 

In  the  night,  when  the  woods  are  still. 

The  field  mouse  scurries  to  find  her  seed 
Over  the  snowy  hill. 

The  rabbit  bounds  from  his  bush  away, 
The  skunk  steals  slowly  to  seek  his  prey, 

And  the  fox  slinks  into  the  shadow  gray, 
In  the  night,  when  the  woods  are  still. 

The  snowflakes  spread  out  a  clean  new  sheet 
In  the  night,  when  the  woods  are  still, 

Where  the  field  mouse  dances  on  fairy  feet, 
And  the  skunk  plods  on  to  kill. 

And  when  iced  trees  glint  in  the  morning  glow, 
And  woodsmen  out  to  the  forest  go, 

They  read  wee  tragedies  written  in  snow, 
In  the  night,  when  the  woods  are  still. 

[i] 


APRIL 

Come  away  into  the  springtime 

For  the  brooks  are  running  free, 
And  the  blush  is  on  the  maple, 

While  the  dainty  willow  tree 
Swings  her  airy  veil  of  yellow 

To  the  calm  adoring  stream, 
And  within  his  faithful  mirror, 

Sees  her  own  reflection  gleam. 

Come  away  into  the  woodland, 

For  the  bold  skunk  cabbage  rise, 
And  hepaticas  have  opened 

Childhood's  wonder-widened  eyes, 
And  the  forest  flower  of  Easter, 

Red  as  blood  and  white  as  snow, 
Thrusts  up  through  the  spongy  leaf  mould, 

Where  the  polypodies  grow. 


1*1 


APRIL 


Come  away  and  hear  the  spring-song 

That  the  nesting  blue-birds  sing, 
Hear  the  water  thrushes  carol 

Where  the  alder  tassels  swing, 
And  when  misty  evening  hushes 

Beast  and  bird  with  stilling  wand, 
Hear  the  love  song  of  the  peepers 

From  the  meadow  pond! 


[3] 


SPRING 

His  men  were  laying  my  garden  wall, 

"Love,  love,"  the  bright  birds  calling, 
Tassels  hung  light  on  the  maples  tall, 
And  daffodil  leaves,  green  candles  of  spring, 
Pierced  bravely  up,  while  each  shovel  swing 

Sent  the  brown  earth  falling,  falling, 
Thud,  thud,  on  stone  and  mud, 
The  brown  earth  falling,  falling. 

The  gray  head  mason  watched  his  men, 
"Love,  love,"  the  birds  were  calling, 
While  stone  on  stone  they  laid  again, 
He  turned  his  weathered  face  toward  me, 
"Could  you  use  a  Paisley  Shawl?"  said  he, 
Soft  earth  so  softly  falling. 

I  knew  the  man  and  his  workmen  all, 
"Love,  love,"  the  bright  birds  calling, 


SPRING 


They  had  built  me  many  a  strong,  straight  wall, 
And  I  answered  indulgently,  liking  him  well, 
"Do  you  know  of  a  Paisley  Shawl  to  sell?'* 
Soft,  soft  the  brown  earth  falling. 

Then  over  his  face  a  strange  shade  came, 
"Love,  love,"  the  sweet  birds  calling, 

I  could  have  bitten  my  tongue  for  shame, 

So  strangely,  and  proudly  he  answered,  "No! 

My  wife  died  fifteen  years  ago" — 
Down,  down  the  dull  earth  falling. 

Spring  in  each  bud — and  thud  on  thud, 
The  brown  earth  falling,  falling. 


[Si 


THE  WILD  CANARY 

From  the  elm  tree's  lightest  spray, 
Where  the  tassel  buds  are  swinging, 

Floats  a  merry  roundelay, 

Hark!   the  wild  canary  singing. 

Down  the  liquid  music  trills — 
Where  the  gay  forsythia  showers 

Golden  stars,  and  daffodils 
Prank  the  wall  with  yellow  flowers. 

All  the  joy  the  blossoms  bring, 
Trembles  in  his  lilting  note. 

All  the  sunshine  of  the  spring 

Gushes  from  his  throbbing  throat! 


[6] 


MAY 

Above  the  rushing  of  the  brooks 
The  winds  of  heaven  roar  by, 

And  drive  the  cloud  flotillas  far 
Across  the  rainless  sky. 

Along  the  old  Bog  Meadow  Road 

The  airy  dogwood  gleams, 
And  little  yellow  violets  stand 

Knee  deep  in  swollen  streams. 

Young  brake  unroll  their  downy  fronds 

Beside  the  trickling  run, 
And  every  plumy,  feathered  tree, 

Is  nodding  to  the  sun. 


[7] 


PANSIES 

Pansies,  pensees,  little  thoughts  in  flower, 

Tender  fancies  sprung  to  life 

In  the  twilight  hour. 

Hopes — too  subtle  for  confession 

Dreams — too  sweet  to  find  expression — 

Far  too  shy,  for  human  ear, 

Touched  the  ground,  and  blossomed  here. 


[8] 


STILLWOOD 
To  G.  T. 

When  hollyhocks  are  blooming 

Beside  the  low  front  door, 
Then  come  to  us  at  Stillwood, 

And  stay  a  week  or  more. 

The  roses  by  the  garden  path 

Will  thrill  you  through  and  through, 

And  I  will  put  the  reddest  rose 
In  a  sea-green  vase  for  you. 

And  you  shall  have  the  gray-green  room, 
With  windows  looking  down, 

Over  the  river  valley, 
Beyond  the  hidden  town. 

A  room  as  cool  as  willows, 
With  woodwork  white  as  snow, 

A  table  by  the  little  bed, 

And  an  armchair  light  and  low. 

[9] 


STILLWOOD 

And  through  the  western  window 
Will  float  the  faintest  breeze, 

And  you  will  see  the  sun  go  down, 
Behind  the  maple  trees. 

You  will  see  the  sun  go  down 
And  hear  the  wood-thrush  call, 

And  smell  the  briar  roses, 
That  scramble  on  the  wall, 

The  wilful  briar  roses, 

That  clever  gardeners  prune, — 
Oh!  come  to  us  at  Stillwood 

And  make  a  double  June! 


[10] 


COUNTRY  LULLABY 

When  the  round  red  sun  is  sinking  in  the  west — 

in  the  west, 
Then  the  baby  robins  snuggle  in  their  nest — in 

their  nest, 
And  the  father  robin  sings,  and  the  mother  spreads 

her  wings, 
Saying,  "Cuddle  little  birdies  to  my  breast — to 

my  breast." 

When  the  farm  horse  falls  a-dozing  in  his  stall — 

in  his  stall, 
And  the  puppy  dog  has  curled  up  in  a  ball — in  a 

ball, 
Then  the  little  crickets  peep,  "Children,  children 

go  to  sleep, 
For  the  stars  will  soon  be  shining  on  us  all — on 

us  all!" 


[ii] 


NOCTURNE 

O!    Velvet  night,  with  swiftly  rushing  breezes, 
Rushing  breezes  whispering  among  the  restless 

trees, 

O!     Precious  night!    How  welcome  thy  releases 
From  all  the  glaring  garishness  the  bright  day 
sees. 

Now  the  dark  hills  are  soft  as  purple  pansies, 
Now  the  river  meadows  shimmer  misty  gray, 

Fireflies  flicker  by,  as  vagrant  as  our  fancies, 
And  the  crawling  night  boat  glimmers  on  its 
way. 


[12] 


SUMMER 

Breathless! 

The  heavy  maple  hangs  her  listless  leaves, 

The  rambler  blossom  droops  beneath  the  eaves, 

The  sulky  hen  walks  silently  and  slow, 

The  cows  crawl  homeward  with  their  heads  held 

low, 

Dejected,  limp,  the  pastured  horses  stand, 
Heat's  curse  is  on  the  land. 

Then  light, 

Like  the  flip  of  a  fair  lady's  fan, 

Stirs  a  flutter  of  breeze, 

In  the  tips  of  the  trees, 

And  below, 

As  the  harder  puffs  blow, 

All  the  branches  swing  slow, 

Turning  up  the  dull  green 

Till  the  silver  is  seen. 


[13] 


SUMMER 


Wild,  wild, 

Swoops  the  wind  down  the  draw  in  the  hills, 

Where  it  riots  and  spills, 

On  the  grass  and  the  flowers; 

Languid,  drooping  for  hours, 

All  the  maples  swing  high, 

As  the  squall  rushes  by, 

With  a  screech  and  a  wail, 

And  the  rose  petals  sail 

On  the  wings  of  the  gale, 

Over  barnyard  and  town, 

Till  they  falter — die  down. 

Then,  in  a  gust, 

On  the  dry  lawn  and  dust, 

Like  food  for  the  hungry,  like  sleep  after  pain, 

Sweeps  the  rain! 


[14] 


STRAWBERRIES 

Have  you  seen  the  Fairy  lanterns  in  the  July 

fields, 
Mid  the  sunshine  and  the  fragrance  that  the  long 

grass  yields, 

Lest  some  elf  should  go  astray 
From  the  shortest,  surest  way, 
To  the  banquets  where  the  fiddler  crickets  play  ? 

In  the  nighttime  you  can  see  their  tiny  crimson 

glow 

In  the  grasses  tawny  forest,  everywhere  you  go, 
For  the  firefly  with  his  light, 
Touches  each  and  makes  it  bright, 
And  they  glimmer,  glimmer,  glimmer  through  the 

night. 


STRAWBERRIES 


Sometimes  I  wonder  how  'twould  be  if  you  or  I, 
When  the  baby  moon  is  swinging  in  the  evening 

sky, 

Should  just  creep  right  out  of  bed 
To  those  bits  of  flaming  red, 
And  then,  follow,  follow,  follow  where  they  led. 

Do  you  think  we'd  see  the  fairy  folk  upon  their 

way, 
Where  the  elfin  court  is  gathered  for  a  banquet 

gay? 

And  upon  a  mushroom  chair, 
With  a  wand  of  maiden  hair, 
We  should  watch  the  fairy  princess  o'er  her  court 

hold  sway? 


[16] 


WATER  LILY 
(Mac  Dowell) 

Floating,  floating  on  the  dark  lake  waters 
Pallid  gleaming,  through  the  dusky  night, 

What  though  the  mire  around  my  feet  is  clinging? 
Lo!    My  heart  opens,  fragrant,  pure  and  white. 

Waiting,  waiting,  on  the  still  lake  waters, 
Yearning,  yearning — art  thou  coming  soon? 

Wilt    thou    shine    upon    me    most    beautiful   en 
chantress  ? 
Hasten,  hasten,  lovely  Lady  Moon! 


[17] 


COBWEBS 

We  worked  until  the  east  flushed  red, 
And  found,  when  we  were  through, 
A  mesh  of  cobwebs  spread  around, 
Spun  out  across  the  grassy  ground, 

Cobwebs  two  by  two — 
Just  where  our  clumsy  feet  must  pass, 
Cobwebs  swinging  on  the  grass, 

Glistening  with  dew. 


[18] 


CORNWALL 

Yellow  leaves  are  falling,  falling 

On  the  dewy  ground. 
Chickadees  are  calling,  calling 

In  the  woods  around. 

Storm  King's  glowing  gold  and  purple 

Fades  to  sober  brown, 
And  through  swiftly  thinning  hedges 

Looms  a  larger  town. 

All  too  soon  the  sun  is  throwing 
Schunemunk  in  purples  clear — 

All  too  soon  each  day  is  going 
Of  this  golden  year ! 


[19] 


YELLOW  LEAVES 

The  dew  is  on  the  eyelids  of  the  sleeping  morn, 
No   merry   robin   calls    her    mate    among  the 

golden  trees, 
The  field  mouse  hurries  harvesting  between  the 

shocks  of  corn, 

And  chipmunks  gather  winter  stores  beneath 
the  hickories. 

Along   the    Midas    charmed    woods,    the    happy 

children  roam, 
Where  up  the  yellow  chestnut  trees,  the  yellow 

grapevines  run, 
The  tawny  caterpillar  crawls  to  weave  her  winter 

home, 

And   crickets   by   the   kitchen   door  await  the 
tardy  sun. 


[20] 


CHICKADEE 

Leaves  are  filling  up  the  gutters, 

Empty  nests  are  swinging  bare, 
Song  birds  all  have  fled  to  southward 
From  the  nipping  autumn  air. 

But  I  see,  on  a  tree, 
Plump  and  round  with  jollity, 
A  merry  little  breakfaster  a-chirping,  "Chicka 
dee!" 

He's  a  saucy  little  fellow 

In  his  sober  black  and  gray, 
And  he  hails  the  passing  squirrels 
With  a  chirp  that  seems  to  say, 
"  How  d'ye-do  ?    How  d'ye-dee  ? 
Oh!  I'm  very  glad  to  see 

All  my  friends  so  well  and  happy — very  happy, 
Chickadee!" 


[21] 


CHICKADEE 


He  chuckles  at  the  empty  nest 

A-swinging  up  so  high. 
He  quirks  his  funny  tufted  head, 
And  gives  a  merry  cry, 

"O-ho!    The  season's  over, 
Summer  guests  have  gone  away. 
I'm  not  afraid  of  frosty  nights, 
I'm  here — and  here  to  stay 
Chickadee!    Chickadee — day — day — day!" 


[22] 


NOVEMBER 

When  dull  November  drags  across  the  sky, 
Fold  after  fold  of  massive  mournful  cloud, 

When  from  the  lanky  pine,  the  last  crows  cry, 
And  shutters  rattle  in  the  East  wind  loud. 

When  old  nests  totter  on  the  empty  trees, 

And  garden  beds  are  rough  and  black  and  bare, 

And  only  squirrels  and  gray  chickadees 

Still  search  the  hedgerow  for  their  meager  fare. 

When  the  sad  wind  draws  down  the  sadder  hills, 
Moaning  the  sweetness  of  the  summer  dead, 

Wailing  the  cruelty  of  frost  that  kills, 

Sighing  for  song  birds  far,  far  southward  fled, 

Then  look!    Along  the  faster  flowing  rills, 
Already  maple  buds  are  purple  red! 


[23] 


COON  HUNT 

Slam,  slash,  stumble  in  the  pitch,  black  trees, 

Crash,  crunch,  crumble  on  the  brook-beds  dry. 
Oak  leaves  rattle  in  the  cold  night  breeze, 

Wild  clouds  gallop  from  the  green  north  sky. 
Hound  dog  howling,  up  the  West  Point  Road, 

Hoot  owl  "whooing"  at  the  cold  white  moon. 
Ten  men  panting  with  their  guns  on  the  load, 

Old  Jim  Babcock  is  out  for  a  coon ! 


[24] 


ABOVE  SUTHERLAND'S  POND 

Ridge  after  ridge,  the  rough  hills  roll  away, 
The  near  ones  brown,  and  then  a  purple  hue, 
And  further  yet  a  faint  and  fainter  blue, 
Until  the  last  long  plateau  well  might  be 
The  pale  horizon  of  a  distant  sea, 
Serenely  shining  on  a  summer  day. 

We  hear  the  wind  sweep  through  the  empty  skies, 
And  far  off,  from  the  hidden  river  plain, 
The  muffled  rumble  of  a  rushing  train — 
Then  quiet.     Not  one  bird  with  little  trills 
Disturbs  the  solemn  silence  of  the  hills. 
The  hills — so   wild  and  lonely,  who  would  say 
That  from  this  rock  scarce  fifty  miles  away, 
A  panting,  throbbing,  seething  city  lies! 


[25] 


WYOMING 

In  the  meadow  marshes,  where  the  bull  elk  wallow, 
In  the  fallen  timber,  where  the  pheasant  breeds, 

There's  a  subtle  magic,  luring  us  to  follow, 

Where  the  printed  deer  track,  to  the  stream  bed 
leads. 

Not  for  me  the  rifle,  not  the  bullet  dealing 

To  the  woodland  creatures  suffering  and  death. 
Mine    the    haunted    voices,    through    the    forest 

stealing, 

Mine   the   quickened    pulses,    and    the   deeper 
breath. 

Mine  a  sense  of  oneness,  with  each  wild  thing 

near  me — 
Paw,  and  wing  and  antler,  moss  and  flower  and 

tree — 
I  would  dwell  among  them  till  they  cease  to  fear 

me — 

In  a  sweet  primeval,  Eden  harmony. 
[26] 


SNOW  IN  THE  ROCKIES 

Out  of  the  air  a  cloud 

Subtle  and  soft  and  slow — 
Wreathing  us  in  a  shroud 

From  the  hills  and  the  valleys  below, 
Out  of  the  air  a  cloud — 

And  out  of  the  cloud — snow! 

Snow  so  gentle  and  still 

That  the  fire  sings  loud  and  high, 
Snow  so  white  on  the  grass  on  the  hill 

That  the  earth  is  as  light  as  the  sky, 
Flake  by  flake  on  the  grasses  until 

The  earth  is  as  pure  as  the  sky. 

Far,  far  from  the  earth  we  seem 

While  the  dense  cloud  curtain's  bar, 

Bar  us  away  like  a  soul  in  a  dream, 
From  the  world  of  things  that  are, 

Far,  far  from  the  world  of  man  we  seem 
Near  to  the  realm  of  the  star! 
[27] 


SARANAC 

On  the  lake  blue  waves  are  dancing 
In  the  morning  breeze — 

Every  dainty  leaflet  trembles 
On  the  white  birch  trees. 

In  the  cove  beyond  the  pine  woods, 
Where  white  water  lilies  gleam, 

Winding,  creeping,  semi-sleeping, 
Flows  a  little  stream. 


[28] 


CONCORD  RIVER 

Dip  .  .  .  swing 
Glistening  blade, 
Cleaving  the  waters  through! 
Glide  .  .  .  gleam 
Over  the  stream, 
Gracefully,  my  canoe! 
Willows  are  leaning  to  look  in  the  glass, 
Cows  never  raising  their  heads  as  we  pass. 
Calm  .  .  .  still 
Lo!  yonder  hill 
Sleepeth  beneath  the  blue. 


[29] 


FOG  ON  SARGENT 

The  wind  is  hushed,  the  waves  grow  still, 
The  fog  slides  in  across  the  hill, 
Shrouding  the  landing,  wreathing  the  town, 
Billowing  up  on  the  sides  of  Brown. 

Like  wild  merchildren  forth  at  play, 
The  first  gay  vapors  stream  away, 
Over  the  Hadlocks,  and  up  the  Sound, 
Skirting  the  feet  of  the  hills  around. 

The  balsams  melt  into  misty  gray, 
A  white  wall  shuts  the  world  away, 
And  the  giant  rocks  on  Sargent  loom, 
Grim  and  grand  in  the  pearly  gloom. 

And  below  the  cliffs  where  birches  gleam, 
Long  branches  drip  into  the  stream, 
The  salt  dew  wets  the  fern's  green  feather, 
Sea  and  mountain  are  met  together. 

[30] 


ON  WESTERN  MT. 

A  rosy  bloom  spreads  over  bare  old  Sargent, 
Long  purple  shadows  fall  across  the  trees, 

That    rank   on    rank   press    up   the    mountain's 

shoulders, 
And  row  on  row,  reach  outward  to  the  seas. 

The  calm  of  heaven  rests  over  the  pale  narrows 
And  stills  the  placid  sweep  of  Blue  Hill  bay, 

Only  the  line  of  white  on  Bunker's  Ledges 
Breaks  the  pure  mirror  of  the  Western  way. 

The  Western  way,  white  flecked  with  tiny  sail 

boats, 
Slow    homeward    drifting   on   the    tide's    full 

stream, 

Past  wooded  shores  of  deep  mysterious  islands, 
And  lighthouse  towers  like  castles  in  a  dream. 


ON  WESTERN  MT. 


And  here,  beside  me  on  the  granite  ledges 
Where  rude  and  free,  young  eagles  might  reside 

Here  on  the  cliff,  a  fairy  garden  blossoms 
Filling  a  cranny  on  the  mountain's  side. 

One  hair-bell,  purple  as  the  morning  ocean, 
Sea  golden-rod,  more  yellow  than  the  sun, 

And  tender  moss,  and  slender  polypodies, 
Along  the  tiny  crevice  gayly  run. 

I  think  when  Beauty  passed  across  the  island, 
Breathing  charmed  breath  upon  the  waters  clear, 

Raising  her  mighty  wings  above  the  mountains, 
A  little  feather  fell,  and  lighted  here. 


[32] 


ZERMATT 

You  seem  the  whitest  thing  on  earth 
Monta  Rosa! — wrapped  in  snow! 
So  pure,  so  high — but  what  a  dearth 
Of  life  and  warmth — the  glaciers  slow 
Crawl  down  your  surface  old, 
So  lonely — and  so  cold! 


33  1 


CAUX-SUR-TERRITET 

A  small  boat  rests  at  anchor  in  the  lake, 
Whose  blue,  unruffled  by  the  restless  wake, 
Mirrors  the  shining  sail. 

And  waiting  for  the  day  not  yet  begun, 
The  lake  lies  placid,  with  the  rising  sun 
Kissing  her  visage  pale. 

Come  let  us  linger — by  this  ancient  tree, 
And  watch  the  smoke  that  curls  so  drowsily 
Above  the  sleeping  town. 

For  hush!  the  very  mountain  is  at  rest. 
A  weary  cloud  is  cradled  on  his  breast 
So  scarred  and  bare  and  brown ! 


[34l 


THE  CHILDREN 


353 


MAGNIFICAT 

God,  who  hast  given  me  all, 

Since  life  began, 
All  of  the  laughter  and  love 

Of  the  years'  short  span- 
Till  I  thought  that  the  best  gift  was  given, 

And  the  highest  good — 
Lo!  and  Thou  offerest  now 

Motherhood ! 


[37] 


PROMISE 

Are  you  trying  to  call  me,  my  wee  one, 

Are  you  restless  to  be  free? 
Do  you  beat  on  the  walls  of  your  prison, 

To  be  out  in  the  world  with  me  ? 

So  close  I  enfold  you,  my  wee  one, 

A  bud  with  petals  curled; 
Soon  only  my  arms  shall  hold  you 

Away  from  the  wide,  wide,  world. 

And  then  you  will  leave  my  arms,  darling, 
And  then  you  will  run  from  my  side — 

Oh !  let  the  weeks  linger,  my  wee  one, 
So  safely  you  now  abide! 


[38] 


JANE 

As  I  watch  your  rosy,  sleeping  face, 
And  feel  your  soft  head  pressed 

In  the  curved  hollow  of  my  arm, 
And  your  hand  lie  on  my  breast, 

Light  seems  the  weariness  and  pain 
I  bore  for  you  last  year — 

Gone  like  the  memory  of  a  dream, 
Now  that  I  hold  you  here! 


[393 


THE  NESTLING 

We  have  a  little  turtle-dove, 

With  round  blue  eyes, 
Her  nest  is  on  the  window-sill, 

Beneath  the  skies. 

Cuddled  down  in  afghans  white, 
There  she  lies  from  morn  till  night, 

Watching  every  cloudlet 
In  grave  surprise. 

Oftentimes  we  hear  her  give 

A  merry  coo, 
To  ask  a  passing  birdie, 

"Who  are  you? 

If  you  fly  so  far  and  high, 

Why  must  I  so  quiet  lie? 
I  should  like  to  flutter 

With  you  too." 

[40] 


BAFFLED 

Soft  limbed  little  mystery, 
Little  we  know — with  all  our  care, 
How  wise  the  food  that  we  prepare — 
How  best  to  give  you  sun  and  air. 

Sometimes  your  eyes  so  solemn  blue — 
Will  seem  to  quiz  me  through  and  through, 
As  though  to  say  "You,  poor  fool,  you!" 


[41] 


THE  OTHERS 

She  will  lie  for  an  hour,  when  her  nap  is  done, 

In  her  wide  white  crib  alone, 
And  croon  and  gurgle  to  herself, 

And  smile  at  each  merry  tone. 

Till  I  wonder  if  she  is  talking  there, 

To  someone  I  can  not  see— 
Someone  she  played  with  in  the  air, 

Before  she  came  down  to  me. 

It  may  be  her  brothers  and  sisters  come 

To  see  the  eldest  here, 
Eager  to  learn  of  their  future  home 

With  flutterings  of  fear. 

And  she  gurgles  so  contentedly, 
And  smiles  with  such  merry  pride, 

I  am  sure  she  is  telling  them  all  is  well. 
That  our  arms  are  open  wide. 

[42] 


CUDDLE  DOWN 

Little  white  bird,  with  the  soft  flannel  breast, 
Cuddle  down,  cuddle  down,  into  your  nest, 
Hands  never  idle,  the  merry  day  through, 
Faithful  rag  dolly  is  waiting  for  you, 
Press  your  hot  cheek  on  her  cool  gingham  breast, 
Cuddle  down,  cuddle  down,  into  your  nest. 

Soft  in  the  nursery  and  loud  in  the  hall, 

Little  shoes  trotted  from  window  to  wall, 

Now  the  limp  stockinged   feet,   plead   for  their 

rest, 
Cuddle  down,  cuddle  down,  in  your  warm  nest. 

Eyes  wide  with  wonder  from  morning  till  night, 
Draw  the  fringed  curtains  now,  in  the  dim  light, 
Smooth  out  protesting  lips,  mother  knows  best, 
Cuddle  down,  cuddle  down,  into  your  nest. 


[43] 


GODMOTHER 

The  godmothers  came  in  olden  days, 

With  fairy  gifts  to  the  cradle  side, 
They  brought  there  beauty,  and  kindly  ways, 

And  grace,  and  other  charms  beside. 

And  perhaps  if  you  laid  your  hand  on  my  brow, 

And  left  there  wishes  three, 
The  fairies  would  listen,  and  even  now, 

Would  bring  those  wishes  to  me. 

Perhaps  if  you  wished  me  your  gentle  eyes, 

And  your  smile  so  kind  and  true, 
The  fairies  would  listen,  and  bye-and-bye, 

I  should  grow  just  like  you ! 


[44l 


THE  FAVORITE 

Said  the  rubber  dog  with  the  long  straight  tail 
To  the  duck  with  the  emerald  breast, 

"You  are  very  lovely  to  look  upon, 
But  the  baby  loves  me  best." 

For  she  takes  my  whole  head  in  her  mouth, 

And  I  patiently  let  her  chew, 
And  suck  and  bite  with  all  her  might, 

To  help  her  teeth  come  through." 

Said  the  emerald  duck,  "She  would  never  dare 

Do  such  a  thing  to  me, 
But  she  finds  me  floating  in  her  bath, 

And  laughs  and  crows  with  glee." 

"I'll  tell  you  what,"  said  the  rubber  dog, 

"Let  us  together  stand, 
On  the  bureau  top,  and  see  which  one, 

She  first  takes  in  her  hand." 

[45] 


THE  FAVORITE 


So  they  took  their  stand  on  the  bureau  top, 

And  stood  there  side  by  side, 
The  dog  held  his  tail  up  straight  and  high, 

And  the  green  duck  swelled  with  pride. 

Then  the  baby  came  on  her  nurse's  arm, 
And  their  hearts  went  pit-a-pat, 

The  baby  did  not  glance  at  them, 
She  was  hugging  the  worsted  cat! 


[46] 


THE  SQUIRREL 

Little  squirrel,  in  the  ramble, 
Is  your  nose  as  cold  as  mine? 

Don't  you  find  it  very  draughty, 
Where  the  tree  tops  intertwine  ? 

Little  squirrel,  with  no  mittens, 
Don't  your  fingers  ache  with  cold  ? 

Did  your  hair  turn  gray  as  grandpa's 
Just  because  you  are  so  old  ? 

Are  you  never  thirsty,  squirrel, 
From  the  food  you  have  to  eat  ? 

Or  are  peanuts  just  as  juicy 
As  my  bowl  of  cream  of  wheat  ? 


[47] 


HOMEWARD  BOUND 

When  winds  blow  chill,  on  the  mall  and  the  lake, 
And  clouds  gather  dreary  and  dark, 

Like  a  flock  of  white  sea-birds,  that  scurry  ashore, 
The  babies  come  home  from  the  Park. 

The  brisk  nurses  hasten,  the  slender  wheels  whirl, 
And  beneath  the  warm  worsteds  and  silk, 

Each  little  heart  beats  with  a  pang  and  a  thrill, 
At  the  thought  of  hot  porridge  and  milk. 

The  limousines  spin  through  the  late  afternoon, 

They  crowd  in  the  gathering  dark, 
But  their  long  line  must  wait  at  the  Avenue  gate, 

While  the  babies  come  home  from  the  Park. 


CITY  LULLABY1 

Good-night  my  baby  girl, 
The  city  streets  grow  bright, 

Each  lamp-post  holds  a  lantern, 
And  each  window  holds  a  light. 

The  dusky  limousines 

Speed  on  their  homeward  way, 
And  high  above  the  tower, 

Blooms  soft  the  fading  day. 

Here  in  the  darkening  room, 
We  throw  the  windows  wide, 

And  draw  the  crib-clothes  down 
And  tuck  you  snug,  inside — 

A  cozy  flannel  ball, 

Among  the  covers  white — 
Good-night  my  baby  girl, 

God  keep  you  all  the  night! 

[49] 


CALVIN 

The  robin  sits  upon  her  nest, 
In  the  pine  tree  by  the  swing, 

With  blue-green  eggs  beneath  her  breast, 
She  has  no  time  to  sing. 

The  tulips  by  the  garden  wall 

Hold  chalices  of  red, 
And  my  dear  boy  who  loves  them  all 

Must  lie  in  his  white  bed. 

The  violets  and  anemones 

Have  starred  the  pasture  gay, 

White  apple  blossoms  load  the  breeze 
With  honeyed  breath  of  May. 

What  care  I,  if  flowers  grow, 

And  fairy  perfumes  shed, 
When  my  dear  boy  who  loves  them  so 

Must  lie  in  his  white  bed  ? 

[Sol 


CALVIN 


But  I  will  seek  them  all  for  him, 
Each  tender,  winsome  thing, 

That  blossoms  by  the  wood-lot  rim, 
And  paves  the  path  of  spring. 

And  I'll  bring  home  the  fragrant  pile 

Of  flowers  white  and  red, 
And  then  my  little  boy  will  smile, 

As  he  lies  in  his  white  bed. 


SCIENCE 

Mother,  do  you  know  what  ? 
Mother,  do  you  know  what  ? 
Water  is  a  pick  and  shovel. 

Mother,  do  you  know  what  ? 
Mother,  do  you  know  what  ? 
Water  is  a  pick  and  shovel. 

Because  it  digs  out  ditches  wide, 
And  rolls  rocks  down  the  mountain  side, 
Because  it  digs  the  ditches  wide, 
Water  is  a  pick  and  shovel. 


[52] 


THE  CROUP  KETTLE 

The  incense  burns  to  that  malignant  joss, 
Who  visits  croup  on  little  boys  and  girls, 

The  humid,  benzoin-laden  atmosphere 
Dampens  the  hot-browed  victim's  yellow  curls. 

And  while  his  burning  fingers  reach  for  mine, 
And  vise-like,  close  about  my  cooler  hand, 

His  heavy  eyes  are  dumbly  questioning 
The  torment  that  he  can  not  understand. 

Then  low  and  lower  droop  the  tired  lids, 

The  curling  lashes  sweep 
The  crimson  cheeks,  as  some  more  kindly  god 

Has  drawn  him  into  even-breathing  sleep. 


(531 


THE  HOOT  OWL 

God  of  little  children  who  sees  us  through  the 
night, 

As  if  it  were  the  pleasant  light  of  day, 
Although  the  corners  grow  so  black, 
When  nurse  turns  out  the  light, 

And  mother's  room  is  very  far  away. 

God  of  little  children,  who  brings  the  stars  all  out, 
And  in  the  nursery  window  bids  them  peep, 

Please  ask  that  ugly  hoot  owl, 

To  stop  his  dismal  shout, 

He  sounds  so  lonesome  that  I  cannot  sleep. 


154] 


FAITH 

"When  I  was  away  from  you,  last  night, 

Did  you  say  your  prayers  when  you  went  to 
bed?" 

Calvin  looked  up  with  his  slow,  sweet  smile. 
"I  just  forgot,"  he  said. 

"Oh!  Calvin,  I  fear  that  God  was  hurt, 

Just  as  I  should  be, 
If  some  night  you  went  off  to  bed 

Without  your  kiss  for  me." 
But  Calvin  still  smiled  placidly, 

"God  knew  I  was  sleepy,"  said  he. 


155  3 


THE  STAR 

The  evening  star  shone  all  alone, 

O'er  the  hill,  where  the  pine  trees  are. 
My  little  boy  looked  up  at  me — 

"Is  that  God's  service  star? 

Did  He  send  His  son  to  the  war?" 
"Long  years  ago,"  I  said, 

"In  Bethlehem,  His  service  star 
Stood  over  a  cattle  shed." 


[56] 


GRANDFATHER 

Last  night  I  dreamed  that  you  came  here  to  see 
Our  little  new-born  boy,  so  silently 
You  stood  beside  his  curtained  crib  and  smiled, 
Just  as  you  used  to  smile,  when  Calvin  played 
Around  your  room  on  winter  afternoons. 

And  with  you  came  your  friend, 

Who  went  through  life  and  laid  down  life  with 

you; 

The  night  lamp  shone  upon  his  silver  hair, 
And  rosy  face,  as  he  stooped  low  to  see 
The  little  boy  who  bears  his  name  and  yours. 

It  seemed  most  sweet  and  natural,  you  and  he 
Together  here,  and  speaking  not  a  word, 
Far  too  distinct  and  natural  for  a  dream, 
And  so  I  love  to  think  that  you  have  seen 
This  baby  too — and  love  him  as  the  rest. 

[57] 


JOHNNY 

You  are  so  soft  and  lissome  Johnny  dear, 
Lying  along  my  arm,  close  nestled  here, 
Soothing  your  hunger  in  the  sweet,  old  way. 

The  good  old  way,  God  gave  to  baby  man, 
Long  ages  back,  when  first  the  world  began, 
And  Eve  nursed  Abel  at  the  break  of  day. 

In  the  deep  joy  of  those  fresh  morning  hours, 
I  think  that  she  forgot  lost  Eden's  flowers. 


[58] 


THE   PINE   PILLOW 

Held  safe  by  white  enameled  bars, 

Little  Johnny  sleeps. 
Above  the  flowered  coverlid, 

His  pink  nose  peeps. 

Upon  his  rosy  forehead 

Slender  curls  lie  damp, 
And  the  pale  light  reaches  to  them 
From  the  round  street  lamp. 

As  I  bend  down  low  above  him, 

Tucking  covers  tight, 
The  warm,  sweet  breath  of  fir  trees 

Fills  me  with  delight. 

The  smell  of  Northeast  fir  trees 

In  the  forests  old, 
From  the  pudgy  balsam  pillow 

That  his  hot  arms  hold. 

[59] 


MY   DAFFODILL 

When  Johnny  wears  his  yellow  suit, 

Around  his  neck  a  frill, 
And  frills  around  his  tender  arms, 

He  is  my  daffodil. 

My  laughing  daffodil,  who  lights 
The  room  with  April  joy, 

My  winning  elf,  my  Ariel, 
Half  blossom  and  half  boy. 


[60] 


BED-TIME 

Come,  little  boy,  in  chambray  blue, 

Mother  is  waiting  for  you. 

Lead  the  gray  elephant  back  to  the  ark, 

The  lion  so  golden,  the  camel  so  dark, 

Lay  them  down  carefully,  each  cherished  toy, 

Bed-time  has  come,  little  boy. 

Dear,  lissome  cherub,  all  rosy  and  white, 
Bathed  and  powdered  and  clothed  for  the  night, 
I  draw  up  the  neck  of  your  fleecy  nightgown, 
And  over  your  pink  toes,  the  long  folds  fall  down, 
Down  on  my  shoulder  then  goes  your  soft  head, 
As  you  go  riding  away  to  your  bed. 

The  windows  are  open,  the  shutters  are  drawn, 
The  fresh  evening  breezes  slip  in  from  the  lawn, 
So  comfy  and  cosy  my  little  boy  lies, 
While  the  sandman  comes  stealing  to  close  his 

brown  eyes. 

God  pity  the  great  folk  in  palaces  bred, 
Who  never  have  put  their  own  babies  to  bed ! 
[61] 


THE  SEA 


[63] 


THE  SLOOP 

Up  she  goes  on  a  big  wave's  shoulder 
Down  she  goes  in  the  trough  of  the  sea, 

Little  she  recks  of  the  silver  rollers 
Light  as  a  petrel  and  just  as  free. 

Smack  in  her  face  blows  the  smart  sou'wester 
Filling  her  mains'l  and  creaking  her  mast 

Little  cares  she  for  the  brisk  wind's  bluster 
Safe  as  a  petrel  and  just  as  fast. 


[65] 


THE  LAUBSTER  BOAT 

The  sou'west  wind  is  breezin'  up  along  the  western 

way, 
It's  chaupy  in  the  narrows,  I  heard  a  speed  boat 

say, 

I'm  only  jest  a  laubster  chug,  I  get  there  anyway. 
Chug-a-chug-a-chug-a-chug-a-chug. 

Out  into  the  chaup 
With  a  rattle  and  a  haup 
Spray  sheet  all  a-slaup 
Chug-a-chug! 

The  little  lads  in  naukabaouts  are  coming  to  the 

lea, 
The  ladies  in  slim  motor  boats  are  frightened  by 

the  sea, 
But  laubstermen,  and  laubsterboats,  for  weather, 

what  care  we? 
Chug-a-chug-a-chug-a-chug-a-chug. 

[66] 


THE  LAUBSTER  BOAT 


Out  the  Western  way 
Where  the  porpoise  play, 
Nosin'  off  the  spray 
Chug-a-chug! 

I  prob'ly  ain't  so  dainty  when  lyin*  at  the  slip, 
Like  all  them  cocky  summer  boats  thet  every  sea 

can  tip, 
But  wait  until  rough  weather  comes,  I'm  good  for 

any  trip. 
Chug-a-chug-a-chug-a-chug-a-chug. 

When  the  buoys  toll, 
When  the  ground  swells  roll 
Over  bunker  shoal 
Chug-a-chug! 


[67] 


SEA  LULLABY 

Under  white  bows,  little  waves  lapping 
Under  gray  skies,  grayer  sails  flapping, 
On  crimson  cushions,  my  little  girl  napping 
Lazily,  lazily  napping. 

Far  off  a  yawl,  the  dark  island  hugging 
Far  off  a  fisher  boat  chugging  and  chugging 
Dreamy  salt  air,  my  little  girl  drugging 
Drowsily,  drowsily  drugging. 

Over  slate  sea,  one  slate  winged  gull  flying 
Over  green  cove,  one  hungry  gull  crying, 
Soundly  asleep,  my  little  girl  lying 
Quietly,  quietly,  lying. 


[68] 


TIDE 

Relentlessly,  relentlessly 

The  tide  swells  in  from  the  deep  sea. 

Relentlessly,  and  shock  on  shock 
The  wave  swings  in  upon  the  rock, 
The  waters  croon  and  purl  and  hiss, 
As  weedy  stone  they  coldly  kiss. 

Relentlessly,  relentlessly 

The  tide  swells  in  from  the  deep  sea. 

It  lifts  the  buoys  and  the  floats, 
And  swings  the  little  tethered  boats, 
And  skiffs  drawn  high  upon  the  beach, 
Are  floated  from  their  owner's  reach. 

Relentlessly,  relentlessly 

The  tide  swells  in  from  the  deep  sea. 


[69] 


TIDE 


And  yet  the  ocean's  dreaded  powers, 
Must  keep  appointed  bounds  and  hours, 
And  day  by  day,  and  night  and  noon, 
The  sea  is  guided  by  the  moon. 
The  pallid  moon,  far,  far  away, 
Holds  the  great  ocean  in  her  sway. 

Relentlessly,  relentlessly 

She  draws  the  waters  of  the  sea. 


[70] 


CARPENTERIA 

Above  the  rosy  crescent  beach 
The  purple  mountains  rise, 

A  sharply  jagged  silhouette, 
Against  the  salmon  skies. 

The  green  waves  break  in  violet 

Upon  the  rosy  sand, 
And  one  last  winged  wanderer — 

Seeks  shelter  on  the  land. 


BAKER'S   BEACH 

Still  the  mighty  waves  strike  dashing 

As  of  old,  upon  the  sand, 
Wildly  lashing,  fiercely  crashing 

In  their  war  against  the  land. 

With  the  wind's  great  force  above  them, 
And  the  current's  force  below, 

Still  they  scourge  the  reefs  and  ledges, 
Strive  to  bring  the  great  cliffs  low. 


[72] 


THE  CROSSING 

In  the  calm  of  a  rosy  afternoon 

The  dimpling  channel  lay, 
And  the  French  shore  faded  all  too  soon, 

With  the  roof-tops  of  Calais. 
For  I  left  my  heart  in  that  sunny  land 

And  it  broke  when  I  went  away! 


[731 


THOUGHTS 


[7Sl 


SNOW 

How  beautifully  snow  fell  to-day, 
On  Stillwood's  little  hill, 
How  indistinct  the  pasture  lay — 
How  far,  and  faint  and  still. 

Here  on  the  slimy  city  street, 
Where  car  and  truck  and  motor  meet, 
Snow  only  falls  to  wet  our  feet. 

It  only  falls  to  wet  our  feet, 

And  to  impede  the  way, 

Break  wheels,  and  springs,  and  muddle  things 

As  long  as  it  shall  stay. 

I  wonder  as  I  walk  to-night, 

And  watch  the  city's  dismal  plight, 

How  anything  in  town  stays  white  ? 


WITH  A  PIPE 

When  the  fireside  seat  is  sought 

And  the  blue  fumes,  fragrance  fraught 

Slowly  rise, 
May  the  giver's  face  be  brought 

To  thine  eyes. 


[781 


PARK  AVENUE 
ToF.  W.  R. 

Crash  and  clatter,  rattle  and  roar — 

Trains  dash  rumbling  by  my  door, 

Under  the  windows  but  hid  from  view, 

By  the  lilac  shrubs  on  the  avenue. 

I  hear  them  pass  and  I  know  they  go 

Out  from  the  bondage  of  ice  and  snow — 

Out  towards  the  sunset's  dying  glow. 

I  am  glad  that  the  long  tracks  are  hid  from  view 

That  lead  to  you! 


[79] 


LINES 

I  used  to  love  the  joyous  cry, 

The  eager  word,  the  swift  embrace, 

The  gay  responsive  smile  that  flew 
Like  sunshine  o'er  the  face. 

But  one  long  glance  of  thy  calm  eyes, 
Such  soundless  depth  of  feeling  shows, 

That  knowing  thee,  I  learn  to  prize 
The  strength  beneath  repose. 


[80] 


DOLORES 

Not  only  in  her  face, 

Where  subtle  shadows  trace 
The  long  hours  spent  with  haunted,  sleepless  eyes, 

Nor  in  her  lips  set  line, 

Although  so  sad  a  sign 
That  in  her  heart  she  walks  the  bridge  of  sighs. 

But  I  have  seen  her  stand, 

When  just  her  white-gloved  hand 
Lay  limp  with  such  despairing  lassitude, 

With  hopelessness  so  drear, 

I  wonder,  year  by  year, 
How  life  to  one  so  frail,  can  be  so  rude. 


[81] 


J.  S. 

You  call  him  great — who  hear  how  he  has  swayed 

Great  forces  with  the  power  of  his  mind. 
You  know  the  place  and  riches  he  has  made, 
And  see  cold  printed  pictures  of  his  face; 
And  say,  "He  has  outstripped  us  in  the  race, 
Because  he  thrust  the  weaker  ones  behind," 
And  so  with  jealousy  and  smouldering  hate, 
You  call  him  great. 

But  I  have  seen  him  in  a  merry  crowd 

Of  laughing  children  in  a  village  street, 
Handing  them  goodies,  while  they  clamored  loud 
For  more — the  panting  motor  standing  by— 
And  mothers  holding  little  toddlers  high, 
That  their  wee  hands  might  have  their  share  of 

sweet. 

And  he  would  fill  the  outstretched  fingers,  while 
He  watched  them  with  a  smile. 

And  I  have  watched  deep  lines  of  pain  and  care 
Creep  gradually  around  his  weary  eyes 
[82] 


J.   S. 

Like  patient  Atlas,  when  he  had  to  bear 

The  world  upon  his  back,  in  days  of  yore, 
So  patiently  his  weighty  tasks  he  bore, 
That  broke  his  strength  and  pulled  him  where 

he    lies. 

You  call  him  great — ah !  if  you  understood 
My  father — call  him  good! 


[83] 


THE  JAPAN  SOCIETY  EXHIBIT 

One  step  from  all  the  bustle  of  the  street, 
Here  in  the  quiet  mete, 
The  ancient  treasures  glisten  in  the  gloom, 
Pervading  the  gray  room. 

The  sense  of  stress  the  strain, 

That  dulls  the  heart  and  dims  the  brain, 

Are  gone — and  in  their  stead, 

Calm  reigns  the  spirit  of  an  age  long  dead. 

The  gathered  beauty  of  an  Eastern  land. 
Sole  witnesses  of  long-drawn  secret  toil, 
Wrapped  in  gray  mystery,  here  mutely  stand, 
Unearthed  so  lately  from  the  sheltering  soil. 

Fashioned  for  Buddhist  tomb  and  Shinto  shrine, 
With  such  pure  zeal  and  sacrificial  care, 
That  still  they  sanctify  the  gentile  air, 
Still  radiate  an  atmosphere  divine. 

[84] 


THE  AUCTION 

In  an  upper  story,  at  Delmonico's, 

An  auctioneer  was  selling, 

Hiroshiges  and  Kyonagas, 

Prints  delicate  and  rare, 

Blue  and  tan  and  rose  and  yellow, 

Geisha  girls  and  Samurai, 

Through  them  all  the  blue  sea  shining, 

Or  the  snowy  cone  of  Fuji, 

Shell-like  against  the  sky, 

Ten,  ten,  ten,  ten,  ten,  ten,  ten,  ten, 

Fifteen,  twenty — going  at  twenty, 

Twenty,  twenty,  for  this  famous  snow-scene, 

Twenty-five,  thirty,  for  this  Hiroshige, 

Forty,  forty,  going  now  at  forty, 

Fifty,  fifty,  fifty,  fair  warning,  fifty, 

Fifty — fifty,  sold  for  fifty  dollars! 

To  Mrs.  Steele,  there,  over  in  the  corner. 

Here's  a  Kyonaga,  now  what  is  your  pleasure? 
Start  it  at  one  hundred.     This  fine  print,  one 
hundred, 

[85] 


AUCTION 


Two  hundred,  three  hundred,  for  this  Kyonaga, 
Four  hundred,  four  hundred,  going  at  four  hun 

dred, 
Four  hundred,  four  hundred,  four  hundred  and 

fifty. 

And  at  a  meeting,  just  down  the  street, 
They  could  not  raise  their  quota 
For  Hoover's  hungry  children. 
"The  times,  you  know.    The  taxes!" 


86] 


THE  COSWAY  MINIATURES 
Morgan  Collection 

Beauties  of  another  day! 

Prisoned  in  the  jewelled  gold, 
Blossoms  of  a  rare  bouquet, 

Charms  that  never  can  grow  old, 
Gathered  here  in  bright  array, 

Tales  of  loveliness  untold ! 

Dress  in  eighteen  hundred  style, 

Soft  curls  powdered  white  and  gray, 

Limpid  eyes  that  still  beguile, 
Hold  us  in  their  gentle  sway. 

Ladies,  do  you  slyly  smile  ? 
We  have  lost  our  hearts  to-day! 


[87] 


HARVARD  CONSERVATORY 

When    cloud  -  covered    heavens    are    dismal    and 
dreary, 

Dreary  the  city  below 
And  alien  hearts  are  all  homesick  and  weary, 

Weary  of  thawing  and  snow. 

How  soothing  to  wander  amid  these  warm  bowers, 
Bowers  where  summer  scents  roam, 

How  dear  is  this  haunt  of  the  lost  summer  flowers, 
Flowers  that  blossomed  at  home! 


[88] 


THE  STATUE  OF  THE  MINUTE  MAN 

The  silent  guarding  trees  alone  surround 

The  sacred  spot; 
The  growing  village  nears  the  holy  ground — 

And  enters  not. 

There  is  no  inharmonious  sign  to  tell 

Of  modern  ways, 
No  jarring  note  to  break  the  gentle  spell 

Of  ancient  days. 

But  there  beneath  the  skies  that  arch  above 

His  solitude 
Still  stands  the  witness  of  a  nation's  love 

And  gratitude. 


FIFTH  AVENUE 

So  safe  behind  the  shielding  glass, 

The  laughing  daffodils  beguile 
Long  glances  from  the  crowds  that  pass, 

And  little  pansies  smile, 
While  primrose  pink  and  iris  blue 

And  sweet  mimosa  beckon  you, 
Although  the  parks  are  bare  and  brown, 

It's  springtime  on  the  avenue. 

The  merry  morning  sunbeams  stream 

On  brim  of  straw  and  flowered  crown, 
And  in  the  window  yonder,  gleam 

White  parasol,  and  filmy  gown, 
While  with  his  globes  red,  green  and  blue, 

The  swart  balloon  man  strides  in  view, 
Although  the  parks  are  bare  and  brown, 

It's  springtime  on  the  avenue. 


[90] 


BOYLSTON  STREET 

The  Old  South  spire  is  purple 
On  a  heaven  of  flaming  gold, 

For  the  sun  has  sunk  in  the  Fenway  mist 
And  the  river  wind  blows  cold. 

The  paths  of  the  common  grow  crowded, 
With  shoppers  hurrying  home; 

And  the  shadow  crawls 

Up  the  old  brick  walls 
Till  it  reaches  the  State  House  Dome. 


WESTMINSTER  CHIMES 

One  more  hour  dies, 
We  toll  its  knell, 

The  next  one  flies 
Oh!  use  it  well! 


[92] 


SUNSET  HYMN 

(Air  Seymour) 

No  roof  shuts  us  from  Thy  sky, 
Lord  God  of  the  open  air! 

All  Thy  breezes  passing  by, 
Blow  upon  our  foreheads  bare. 

As  Thy  manna  fell  of  old, 

On  the  grass  Thy  fresh  dews  fall, 
And  the  sunset's  red  and  gold 

Sheds  Thy  glory  over  all. 

Here,  before  the  daylight  dies, 
Heart  and  voice  we  raise  to  Thee, 

From  Thy  vast  and  tranquil  skies 
Send  us  Thy  tranquillity. 


[93] 


CREDO 

For  those  who  can  believe  it, 
Escaped  from  creeds  outworn, 

In  every  new  born  baby 
A  son  of  God  is  born. 


[94] 


COMMUNION  HYMN 
Air,  St.  Louis 

How  near  He  comes,  how  near  He  comes, 

How  near  to  us  to-day, 
The  Presence  veiled,  the  mystery, 

The  Being  far  away. 

As  cloud  enfolds  the  mountain, 

As  fog  clings  to  the  sea — 
Far,  far  more  near,  He  enters  here, 

Is  one  with  you  and  me. 

Down  through  the  thronging  ages, 
From  the  legend-shrouded  past, 

From  heart  of  man,  to  heart  of  man, 
He  comes  to  us  at  last. 

The  bread  once  broken  for  us, 

In  far-off  Palestine, 
Still  feeds  the  soul,  and  makes  it  whole 

Your  hunger  heals  and  mine. 

[95] 


COMMUNION  HYMN 


The  lonely  man  of  sorrows, 

Who  suffered  long  ago, 
Must  suffer  still,  and  ever  will, 

While  human  currents  flow. 

How  near  He  comes,  how  near  He  comes, 

How  near  to  us  to-day, 
To  fold  us  in,  from  every  sin, 

And  make  us  His  alway. 


196] 


THE  VISITOR 

If  Jesus  came  to  earth  to-day, 

Where  would  he  go,  and  what  would  he  say? 

Would  he  go  to  the  city  temples  tall, 
And  worship  in  Mammon's  gilded  hall? 

Or  to  the  country  churches  white, 
Where  petty  privilege  plots  with  spite  ? 

If  Jesus  came  to  earth  to-day, 

Where  would  he  go?    What  would  he  say? 

Perhaps  he  silently  would  go, 
And  slip  back  in  some  darkest  row, 

Among  the  constant  hearted  poor, 
And  they  would  feel  his  presence  pure, 

And  the  vestry  in  the  foremost  pews, 
The  sight  of  that  dear  Guest  would  lose. 

l97l 


CHRISTMAS  EVE 

What  matters  it,  if  angels  sang 
The  night  that  Christ  was  born, 

Or  if  only  the  night  wind  swelled  and  sighed 
Round  the  stable  eaves  forlorn  ? 

The  night  wind  is  the  voice  of  God, 
As  much  as  an  angel's  horn. 

What  if  the  Star  of  Bethlehem 

That  shone  so  far,  so  bright — 
Were  only  the  star  of  eventide 

That  shines  on  us  every  night? 
Each  shining  star  is  God's  own  sign — 
Who  made  the  dark  and  the  light. 

What  matters  it,  if  the  sweet  Babe  came 

By  miracle  from  on  high, 
Or  child  of  woman  and  of  man, 

Just  as  you  and  I  ? 
The  wonder  was  the  life  He  led, 

And  the  death  that  He  did  die. 
[931 


ENVOI 

Although  I  hold  from  thee  no  winged  lyre, 

With  which  to  sing  thy  praise,  fair  Poetry, 
Though,  when  thy  beauty  touches  me  with  fire, 

Still  am  I  silent,  dumb  in  ecstasy. 
Though  I  can  hear  thy  rhythms  in  the  wind, 

And  see  thee  in  the  river's  curving  flow, 
And  yet  the  earnest  effort  of  my  mind 

But  offers  metres  faltering  and  slow. 
Still  do  I  lend  my  life  to  thy  high  ways, 

For  thee  I  tend  the  rose  beside  my  door, 
That  fills  with  graciousness  the  summer  days, 

And,  drawing  deep,  from  thine  own  treasured 

store, 
I  show  my  children  all  thy  lyric  joys, 

That  while  their  bodies  strong  and  lissome  grow, 
Their  hearts  may  feel  thy  movements  and  thy 
poise, 

And  in  their  eyes,  thy  mirrored  beauties  glow, 
Though  to  the  world  no  silver  song  I  give, 

Still  day  by  day,  my  poetry  I  live. 
[99]   ' 


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